In the end it is not who we will love that is our choice, only whether or not we are willing.
In the end it is our acceptance or denial of what we are that defines our lives.
Even in denial, our bodies are etched, into images of our intentions.
In the end our bodies are maps, indelibly marked by the paths we have traveled;
our strengths and scars, historical documents,
marking our journeys through folly and fate.
In the end, as in the beginning, what is most precious is the presence of companions, and of certain love;
to ease our fears as we begin the journey into a world as yet unknown.
*Please give me your feedback on this edit so I know whether or not you think it’s an improvement, or takes something away from the original.